"Belonging muslim woman creative writing" Essays and Research Papers

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    Five other women were here for the weekend‚ two of them with their partners and the other three alone‚ like Ariel. The two accompanied women were alone now‚ anyway‚ because this particular session was only for the infertile women‚ a chance to vent in private. They sat in a circle in the incense-laden room‚ and the conversation leader – a licensed therapist named Cindy – held up what she referred to as the "talking stick‚" what looked like a mini totem pole. Like the stick‚ Cindy was thin and knobby

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    “Okay‚ everything looks good‚” they nod and hand me a small plastic receipt‚ “Go ‘round the corner and one of our technicians will be with you shortly.” I’d been donating blood to ZLB plasma for the past few months‚ ever since I’d left Lana and the luxury of Kenwood for this small one bedroom apartment in Stadium Village. Twice a week I would come here‚ less than a block from the apartment that Chris had let me use while he was deployed in Iraq. He was just a young boot-ass then‚ always getting

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    The first time Monsieur came to call‚ I was nervous‚ but vowed to Angelique that I would not show it. Mon père invited Monsieur de Lafontaine to our last barbeque of the season‚ which was usually a small affair with twenty to thirty invited guests. I alone‚ was to entertain Louis de Lafontaine in the sitting room that morning for an hour prior to other guests arriving. That would give him ample time to talk one on one with me and then he would know whether he wanted to pursue a relationship or not

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    Creative Writing: Qui-Gon

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    "Qui-Gon wait for me!" Your little feet desperate to catch up the the Jedi master. He stoped and waited for you in the hallway. He softly smiled at you as you took hold of his hand and tugged at his robe sleeve. "Did you forget about me?" You looked up sadly to him. He chuckled softly‚ "No (Y/N)‚ I knew you would be along shortly. I know we always eat the first meal together." You instantly relaxed and looked up to a stranger next to Qui-Gon curiously. A boy several years older than you stood

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    Belonging Creative Writing Deafness The hand ticked monotonously around the watch‚ its staggered movement constantly pushing its smaller brother forward. The window was open‚ and a cool breeze fluttered through‚ ruffling the white curtains. The corner of the curtain nicked a calculator on the table and it fell with a metallic crash. However‚ the boy sitting at the edge of the table never moved. It was only when he turned around and saw the broken calculator with a nail protruding out that he bent

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    We were all strangers before this was ever planned. No one really thought it was possible to start with. I stepped into the portal of time that illuminated my bedroom wall. Like an endless spiral of darkness is what it looked like. I struggled to place my portal-acquiring-device—also known as PAD‚ in my pocket due to the overwhelming pressure‚ however I managed to just before I reached the other end. Lost in utter confusion‚ I wasn’t entirely sure what or where I am. I sighed in disappointment

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    I could only stare agape when our commander stood there lik an ignoramus. Odysseus sneered and cackled nearly overpowering Polyester’s vexing thunder. I faced Odysseus’s backside‚ my lips pursed and dark fists so firm not the cyclops himself could free my grip. However‚ the other men began to lower themselves into a corner‚ ready to cower and continue shivering. For what then had marked our second day in that putrid cave. It was time my docile manners changed... "Nobody‚ I command you to stop

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    "Elena‚ wake up." The voice echoed‚ breaking though what seemed to be a barrier‚ though it still sounded so far away. "Elena" it whispered again and the petite brunette finally stirred in her deep sleep. At first she was unable to assess where it came from; it seemed she was running into a dark and never ending tunnel‚ attempting to find whoever it was that kept calling her name. However it was of no use‚ the closer she got‚ the further away the voice moved. Elena stumbled‚ her worry and tension

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    Homer Homer is a fourteen-year-old mutt that we got at the Animal Rescue League twelve years ago. He is not the brightest bulb on the tree‚ but he is personality plus and part of the family. He’s also a pain in the butt‚ especially over the last couple of years. . . . He has a geriatric tendency to empty his bowels in the living room. He likes to wander off whenever he can—well‚ this is not a new habit‚ actually. He likes to lunch from our neighbour’s garbage—also nothing new. And lately he’s forgetful

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    The drive from Tuscon was a long and miserable drive. It had just rained the night prior so the air was hot and muggy. The sweat clung on to you like glue‚ and was impossable to peal off. The only thing holding my sanity together is the book I brought with me‚ Weathering Heights. Otheirwise I would have jumped out of the car an hour ago. Right now I can imagine my two friends Stefanie and Alex sitting in their bedrooms under the artic blast of their aircondetioner. Oh how I wish I was within the

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